27. Fearless
~ VOSKI ~
Instinctively, I lunged forward, attempting to catch her before she dropped—but I was a beat too late.
Grace shrieked.
A dragon’s flight was deceptively quick. Because we were so far above the earth, our progress seemed slow. But he flew as fast as the birds. Faster than a galloping horse.
The moment she dropped, his momentum exceeded hers, and we flew forward, past her, so that the slack on the strap was taken up in a blink.
I leaned over, hissing curses and shaking my head.
She’d grabbed the strap too tightly. I had no doubt she’d have burns on her palms when this was done, but I doubted she felt it yet.
She’d done as I said and attempted to put her feet first. But she hadn’t anticipated how quickly Kham would advance, jerking her with him.
She was yanked out of the fall—hence the shriek—then spun like a top.
With no chance at all to keep her feet against his side and catch her own momentum, she dangled at the end of the strap, swinging back under Kham’s wingspan, turning and rolling as the leather strap twisted and unwound, back and forth.
At one point she bounced off his side, her shoulder taking the brunt of the impact, and she cried out.
My heart leaped into my throat, but she didn’t lose her grip on the leather.
‘I think we’ll have to land,’ I sent to Kham after a couple of minutes, when it was clear she couldn’t get control of her momentum and steady against him. It wasn’t safe for me to crawl down to help her while she swung so wildly. We could get tangled, and then no one had control.
Kham didn’t reply, but immediately began to bank—away from her so the natural shift kept her pressed against his side, rather than flying free. I appreciated his thoughtfulness and clapped a hand against his neck.
‘You’re a good and thoughtful male, Kham.’
Koa joined him in the circling descent. I called down to Grace to let her know we’d land and just to relax as much as possible.
A minute or two later, Kham found a clearing and dropped to the earth.
I winced, knowing she’d have a rough landing, bouncing at the end of that strap. But at least she’d swing free and we’d get her down, soon.
The moment he’d come to a stop, I grabbed the mounting strap and slid down his side, letting her safety strap slide against my waist so her pendulum swing shortened.
She made strange sounds as I descended, and at first I was worried she’d really hurt herself in that impact with Kham’s side.
I got to the length of the strap and caught her, hooked an arm around her to pull her up against Kham’s side, and pin her in front of me so that she stopped swinging.
Her chest hitched and her body shook.
Shit.
“Where are you hurt?” I muttered. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, you can let go of the strap. You won’t fall. I’ll keep you here. Bend your knees and pull your feet up to brace—that’s it.”
I talked her through it, wincing when she finally loosened her grip on the strap to reveal angry red strips across her palms where the leather slipped through her grasp too quickly and burned her, though it could have been worse.
She was still squeaking and spluttering as I sat her in my lap and took one step higher to get some slack on her strap so I could unclip her.
“Can you hold onto me? Do you have the strength?”
She nodded, still gasping. Relieved, I bent my knees deeper, and unhooked the strap from her belt, cradling her in the curve of my body, then positioned her with her feet against him and instructed her how to walk down with me.
I took her weight, only asking her to keep herself positioned for safety.
We were already halfway down, so it was only a few moments.
But to unclip myself, I had to reach between us.
I struggled, holding both our weights with one hand.
The arm taking the brunt began to shake when I hadn’t quite been able to slide the clip free.
I yanked too hard to get it done, and even though I succeeded in freeing it, I also jerked when it came free.
Grace squawked. I grabbed for her—only for one of my feet to slide out as I lost my grip on the leather.
I was no longer clipped in, so I instinctively clamped an arm around her middle so she wouldn’t fall—but that meant both our body weights hit the extent of my reach and my grip on the strap broke.
“Bend your knees!” It was the only instruction I had time for before we hit the ground. I tucked my head into her shoulder, curled myself around her and rolled us… sort of.
Half-somersault, half roll, a few hissed curses, and a grunt and squeak from Grace. Then we were finally still. Lying on our sides. One of my arms curled in front of her, hugging her to my chest and hand spread over her cheek and ear in an attempt to stop her grinding her face into the dirt.
I lay there for a moment, as I’d been trained, assessing my body.
Grace twitched immediately, uncurling limbs as if she’d jump to her feet.
“Stop!” I barked. It was reflex. What if she’d broken something? Or injured her neck or back?
She froze in my grip, and neither of us moved.
I swallowed, panting, relieved and terrified in the same breath. “Can you hear me, Grace?” I asked quietly.
She nodded, her head just below my chin.
“Good. Now, listen. This is important: Whenever we take a fall, we don’t move.
Do you understand? We lay here for a moment and take stock of our bodies looking for danger of serious injury.
Unless you’re under fire, you assess. Consider any part of your body that hurts—though you won’t always feel pain, shock and adrenaline mean it doesn’t always hurt.
But you look for it. Pain. Tension. A limb that doesn’t want to work properly.
Curl your fingers and toes. Roll your ankles and shoulders.
Bend knees and ankles—and press on your stomach with both hands.
You’re looking for spots that hurt when you press… ”
She kept making small, strangled noises, but did as I said and eventually I rolled away from her, onto my back, and followed my own instructions.
Other than a painful scrape on my knee, I didn’t think I’d actually injured myself. But the noises she made worried me.
Slowly, I rolled to my hands and knees, then turned to face her again.
She’d rolled onto her back, her knees bent up, and her arms around her middle. Was she winded? Or something more serious.
“What is it?” I croaked. “What hurts?”
Her eyes were round and when I moved to lean over her, they snapped to my face.
“HA!” she coughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
I blinked. “Are you—”
“HA HA HA—” She slapped the other hand over the first. But that only succeeded in pressing her palms over the hacking sounds so that it sounded like she spluttered and coughed.
I sat back on my ass and shook my head. “Are you… laughing?”
Grace dropped her hands and turned her body, to roll onto hands and knees, tears running down her cheeks, while snorting, squeaking, giggles shook her entire body.
“It’ll… stop… in a moment,” she gasped, then was overcome with another wave of laughter she attempted to stifle. “It’s just… when I get a shock… and… you should have seen your face!”
She’d made it to all fours, but she spluttered and slumped, rolling to her back again, curling her knees up and gripping her stomach with mirth?
“You… you looked like…” she snorted and shook her head, burying her face in her hands again.
“Are you laughing at me?!”
I sat there, gaping, while she jiggled and wiggled and spluttered. Some little voice at the back of my head insisted that I should be insulted. But I was watching a noblewoman come apart at the seams. Dirty, exhausted, and fucking brave.
When she regained some composure, she pushed up to sit, facing me. Her lips kept twitching, though she fought it, waving me off when I asked worried questions.
When she finally dropped her head back, baring her throat, and sucked in a deep breath, my body tightened at the sight, which echoed the way she’d look in the throes of passion. I had to look away, but she was panting, her chest heaving as she sought to regain control.
And when she finally did, she lifted her head, beaming, her braid askew and half-fallen against her shoulder.
I made myself meet her gaze with one brow high. “Please. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, biting her lip, then pushed to her feet. I followed her quickly, relieved. Both of us dusting off our clothes. But as she slapped at her trousers and that cloak, she beamed.
“Again,” she said in a high, excited voice. Like a child. “Can we do it again? I think I understand better now and I won’t get out of control again. Please?”
And when I gaped at her, she spluttered into laughter again.
‘Well,’ Kham said in my head, his tone tight with amusement. ‘It’s better than losing her nerve.’
We did fly again—we had no choice. The storm hadn’t broken, and though the skies grew darker, it was still dry.
The wind gusts weren’t dangerous. With no way to know how long it would stop us, we needed to keep moving.
So, within twenty minutes of being sure she wasn’t injured, we were in the air again.
She wanted to keep practicing, but apparently the one who’d lost their nerve was me. I used the storm as an excuse, and she accepted that, though her shoulders slumped.
When we’d been flying silently for a time, I finally gave voice to the questions echoing in my head.
“How did you become so fearless? If your life has been so restricted, so caged?”
Her head dropped forward, but her cheeks stretched into a smile. “I’m not fearless at all.”
“Grace, I just watched you launch yourself off dragonback the first time you were asked. Without hesitation. Trust me, that isn’t normal.”
Her smile faded immediately. “I’ve never been quite what I should be, it’s true,” she said quickly, without turning to meet my eyes.
“But, you clearly understand consequences—”
“I’d rather die falling out of the sky, than live caged in a dark, dusty castle,” she said firmly. And she did turn to look at me then.
Something strange panged in my chest.
She held my gaze for a breath, then turned back to Kham and sighed.
I chewed on what she’d said.
She was wealthy, powerful—or at least, from a powerful family. A patriarch that ran in circles with the king. I understood the sense of being imprisoned by one’s life, but…
“A dark, dusty castle?” I asked her, trying to keep my voice from twisting with skepticism. “That seems dramatic.”
She shook her head. “It was my fate. My parents attempted to delay the inevitable, but it truly was only days…”
Something shifted in her. Something alarming. I leaned, intending to turn her to look at me. But even from profile, I saw her brow furrowed, and face lined with all the fear that had been missing when her life was on the line, swinging wildly on the end of a strap, half a mile in the air.
I tried not to feel her, but it was impossible not to recognize the heaviness in her chest. The resonance with… well, with me.
I was quiet, trying to justify changing the subject, but if I was truly a leader, I couldn’t let her sit in that alone.
“Are you willing to die?” I asked carefully. “Or seeking to die? Because they’re different.”
Her head snapped around and she stared at me, shocked. “How do you even know to ask that?”
The words were right there. Right on the tip of my tongue. And the alarm on her features was underlined with hope. In my head, I suddenly saw myself telling her my story. Not all of it. But enough that she’d know I understood.
But the moment I opened my mouth, my body sang with caution and my instincts kicked in. I pushed the urge away.
“I have led many different kinds of men, for years,” I said hoarsely, something in my chest shrieking and dying when the little flame of hope died in her gaze. “I’ve learned a great deal about what drives them.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
But now she wouldn’t meet my eyes again. And that darkness in her chest was expanding.
I rushed on. “Personalities, strengths—we’re all different,” I pushed on. She nodded, but I wasn’t sure the words actually registered. “Some are courageous. Others are reckless with their lives because they don’t care if they die. They tempt death.”
She shook her head sadly. “I don’t want to die. But I would choose death over certain fates.”
And I understood that so deeply, it frightened me that she did too.